Crying in public over a job voluntarily given up

Since giving notice at my job, I have had a couple former board members call me asking why I am leaving. The one I answered today was while in Office Max picking up "Age of Empires" for 11 year old Wilder. This guy is an amazing advocate for history and the museum and always generous with his knowledge and skills. As I was trying to be subtle while talking on the phone in a store, I started crying. Some of the folks I have met in the last eight years have grown on me. It is not just leaving a job, it is kinda like leaving a family. Although without the drunken Thanksgiving stories or embarrassing childhood tales. I told him not to say anything at the board meeting tomorrow, since I didn't want to start crying. He told me it was good to cry, there was something wrong with people who didn't. STILL, I don't want to cry at the board meeting.
Yesterday, another gal gave me a farewell hug and started crying, and so did I.
CRAP.
One door closes, another door opens.
One door closes, another door opens.
One door closes, another door opens.

Texting Teenager Moment

Image courtesy motivatedphotos.com

I got my first big "I HATE YOU" from our 15 year old. I actually received it several times in a row while driving. And all I could think was "my little girl is growing up!"
What was the impetus for this outburst? I busted her chops in public for checking her cell phone for messages while she was in her piano class. I was pissed. She got indignant. It spiraled down into parental threats (I can take that cell phone away blah be blah etc) until she dropped into words of hatred.
About an hour later, while I was cleaning the kitchen, she pulled up a stool and we talked about it all. About 10 minutes later we were both hugging and crying. It is not easy on either one of us that she is growing up, but I think we will make it through. (I hear 16 is a whopper of a year, I was terrible at age 17, wish us luck)

Blogging Hurts

You know what is really sad? I set one of these up for work (a blog.) In two months, it has almost surpassed traffic totals that took me (almost) two years to build.
Sigh.

Ferry Ride

As I was driving toward the ferry last night and the sun was layin' long across the city, giving it a very fall-like glow, I thought : Holy crap, i will not be seeing this lovely city every week now that I quit my job! I will miss that.
On the ferry commute this morning I am behind a beautifully restored '65 mustang that has issues starting. This is the third time this month I have been behind a car with engine probs. I will not miss that. Or driving across Bainbridge! YAY! I will not miss that doldrum event!

Matronly lady Jumps a Battery

Driving out of our road onto the main highway. There was a truck smooshed onto the side of the road (not much room for a car before the road dropped off into forest) with battery cables draped over the sideview mirror. As I was waiting to turn right and zoom off to work a wee little lightbulb went off in my head. Duh, he wanted a jump. I threw the minivan into reverse, pulled up alongside and asked if he was waiting for a jump. Answering yes, I pulled in front of the truck, he hooked up the cables and it started right up. He looked up at me kinda awkwardly and stumbled over a very gracious thank you -- "an angel stopped to help me today... a beautiful ( lovely /somewordlikethat) angel." Now, to put this in perspective remember where I live. I bet never in a million years has a woman ever stopped to help that he wasn't directly related to. He was expecting the jovial man-talk of work and trucks etc etc and got this perky tall woman stopping. And, I never think of myself as lovely nor an angel, I am just a person that see someone needs help and I had the ability to solve that particular problem. I actually embrace the matronly, middle aged type lady I may be-- who drives the white minivan with the small dent because said lady backed her own truck into her own minivan.
Then, got taken out to a surprise dinner by a friend,
and then was told to have a --lovely evening, Miss-- by a stranger. (see matron reference above)


Photo credit : This photo is so appropriately from www.artofmanliness.com

Blogs - Soap Opera - Part II

So I got sucked into this online hissy fit between three bloggers. It is like reading those reality shows I won't watch, except there is no editing to make it more palatable for primetime television.
Only one was actually having hissy fits you could see online. Her sister and brother in law were having their own uncomfortable online blogging episodes and the point of all the brouhaha a) her attacks on a blogger who is one of the big bloggers with the aforementioned clean and easy-reading blog, visually appealing and supposedly well-funded by advertisers and b)she had a crisis of faith, as in, completely went away from the church. This may be fine and dandy to do on the West Coast of the U.S. but from reading her it sounds like hell on earth in her part of (Kansas? Iowa? anyway the corn and bible belt) She is pretty feisty. Reading her I stick by my "I think menopause is hitting her bad..." or else she has tucked alot of 'shoulds' under her belt without knowing why and when the hormones started changing she began to question things. Really really question things. I don't envy her one bit. She has alot of anger, although it is well-worded anger. Her stories of how her family is dealing with her make me sad.
Note: I am editing all the blog name specifics out of this and my previous post. I wanted to comment on the impersonal/personal nature of blogging and how we bloggers may or may not match our online blogging persona. What I don't want is to benefit traffic-wise just because I put some big name bloggers in my verbiage here. And I was. So now I am not.

Blogging Guidelines - 2

I am beginning to get this whole blogging thing. You wanna make money at this? Don't do what I am doing here. (obviously, this is one of those navel-gazing personal journal type blogs for my mental health)
My helpful hints:
1. Keep to one subject.
2. Don't go down paths of extreme crankiness or judgementality.
3. Have a focus to your blog so people can easily identify.
4. Use pictures.
5. Write well. And be succinct. Don't wander on and on and on in a story.
6. Be perky. Always. Be exuberant. And likeable. Don't air your dirty laundry. And... crucial... link into something others may want from you (covet) whether that be money, glamour, great marriage, cute kids, knowledge of some niche market, great house, rare autos, extreme profiency with a variety of sex toys, well-read, writer-ly mannerisms, artistic tendencies, this list can (obviously) continue.
7. Regarding that link: be humble. Whether a single parent, baker extraordinaire, GLBT southerner, or D.C. insider... vanity does not really catch the big populations within blogging.
8. Look at the 'biggies' for guidance, their blogs are easy to navigate, tastefully colored, short posts, colorful photos with a consistent positive message. ("you can do what I do... we can be friends....link to me") To find them, just see what others link to. There is pioneerwoman or dooce for starters. I don't really follow big ones because they are full of stuff I can read in magazines. Unless they do house restoration hints. Then I am all over them.
9. Reminder to blog readers: for some this is a business or a vanity piece. Even though we are all equalized in this media (anyone can comment, anyone can link) that does not mean it is a real world you are reading about. I have read such cranky posts from (mostly women) who have felt disillusioned by other bloggers. The bloggers weren't in real life like their blog presence. That would be hard. In real life you get to see the real person, not a built fantasy person which is what comes out of a 2-D blog posting. This is part of the reason I became hesistant about going to author readings. When a couple of my favorite authors turned out to be DUDS personality wise, it ruined me on their writing. They did not match my built personality for them that came out of their writing.
10. Have fun. Pick something easy for you to share with a bit of a spark.
11. Get your own domain name. (lose the blogspot or wordpress link) Watch out for the skanky domain manager companies.
12. Be patient. You are one of 126,000,000 blogs.

Results from Royal.pingdom.com
* 126 million – The number of blogs on the Internet (as tracked by BlogPulse).
* 84% – Percent of social network sites with more women than men.
* 27.3 million – Number of tweets on Twitter per day (November, 2009)
* 57% – Percentage of Twitter’s user base located in the United States.
* 350 million – People on Facebook.
* 50% – Percentage of Facebook users that log in every day.
* 500,000 – The number of active Facebook applications.

Story of a Wee Lad in a Corn Maze

Here is a story about the 12 acre corn maze in the shape of Washington. When our son Wilder was 4ish and I was still with their pop, we all went up to the corn maze. As we entered, with stalks way over even my 6' head, clear very clear instructions were given to both kids : Don't go out of sight of us. Don't go around a corner without us. This is huge, and there are many many routes and areas to get lost in.
The second we had finished those instructions, Wilder trotted a bit ahead and WHOOSH, gone. Like turned a corner, we were telling him to wait for his ol' parents to catch up, and ... gone.
When we reached the end of the narrow path, it split, and no son. We ran to the end of both paths and looked down them, no son. We freaked, but within reason. When you are in a GIANT corn maze it is not like freaking out and running around is going to help. Since you already don't know where you are (read :maze) you don't want to lose everyone in your group. We hollered his name. We asked people if they had seen a "little boy in a red vest" --he was gone about 10 minutes. Dennis and I split up, and looked down different paths. I had visions of him in tears huddled in some tiny ball between corn rows... bereft and missing his parents. Or some psycho had grabbed him (he was really really cute), or I would need to rent a plane to fly over and find him, or rent a boom truck to elevate me section by section over the corn, or.... (this is where my art degree comes in -- prone to elevating simple situations to creative global emergency levels)
Then all of a sudden, when we would ask about the red vest boy... people walking by would say "you mean Wilder? yeah, he was down there" or " I saw Wilder around this path"
We were getting reports of a self contained little kid, who was greeting everyone with pleasantries and introducing himself. As we were hollering his name, all of a sudden a voice came back through the stalks "Wilder's parents?"
Turns out, Wilder had calmly been walking around, and when he came upon a family, he put his 4 year old body facing them, legs akimbo, put his hands up and said : Stop, my name is Wilder and my family is lost.
Well, we found him. The rest of the day people of all ages would say "Hi Wilder" when we passed and he would greet them back by name. And every year we visit the maze since then Wilder has to endure this story over and over and over.............

Washington State Corn Maze

Photo: Corn maze photo courtesy : The Farm at Trail's End, Snohomish.
Photo : Wilder four years ago in the maze. Why I can never live in Kettle Falls. Oh the humiliation.



It is time for the family/friends trip up to the 12 acre Washington State corn maze outside of Everett. As you navigate the maze, there are hand-made sights and sites of landmarks throughout the state. The Olympia capitol building (looks like a giant birdhouse), Seattle's Space Needle, Peace Arch from Blaine.
When you get around Hanford, where our nuclear reactor is, they paint the corn stalks neon.

Jobs

I quit mine. Have been told it is somewhat insane to quit a job without having another. I will let you know when I am working at McDonald's. Last day of work : November 1st. Yes, I am looking for a new position closer to home, at least, not a ferry ride away. Or if it is a ferry ride away, one that pays so well that I can hire a house cleaner and a manure scooper. And someone to brush the dog and rebuild my bathroom. And one not afraid of ladders, like me, so my gutters are always clean. And, someone who can build fences. I am sure there is more I need done, but that is my short list.

Photo: Pumpkin carvin' at the house a couple years ago.

Busy Girl Week

Photo: horse and son munching apples. I couldn't find a pic of the pears, so you get apples. Oh, and I kept calling these apples "Clears" until a kind lady corrected me. They are called "Transparents." Always learnin' out here in Poulsbo.

Or, busy lady week. Busy woman week. Busy feisty mom week.
This is my third year of making applesauce with the overabundance of apples off our trees.
This was my first year of canning pears. If I was going to sell these, they would be $22 A JAR.
If I figure my labor and supplies. And using all the free pears on the property. I can't wait to taste them.
I thought for sure I was getting sick on Wednesday. You ever kick into overdrive right before you get sick? Wednesday was my overdrive. I went to work on Thursday and told everyone "I am sure I am getting sick, yesterday I made bread, canned applesauce, made banana bread muffins, was down on the ground scrubbing my kitchen floor, and then cleaned out the garage. Suffice it to say, that is not normal behavior for me. I do all that, but not on the same flipping day. Maybe loosely over the course of a week, a two or three.
Wilder was sick last week, then Rose got it this week. I figured I was next.
Saturday night report : Not sick. And canned pears. Four lovely jars for two hours of labor. NOT WORTH IT. But I will do it again, too many pears laying about the property. And not complain in the winter when I buy canned pears for $2.50 at the store.
Thank you blog http://www.paulnoll.com/
I have no idea what they are about but loved their canning instructions. Other than the red food coloring for holiday cheer. That may be a generational thing, but I don't remember red or green pears at xmas. It is also nifty that they help each other can pears.

September and the Livin' is Livin'

I remember when I was startled toward divorce in my (what I thought was a) lifetime marriage ... on a subsequent doctor's visit about something else I asked her " Where is the book that explains how to navigate this? Is there a website to visit? " I had a similar reaction when the first wee baby Rose came to be... I went looking for a book, something like "Every Minute of Your Specific Baby's Existence" (couldn't find that title.) So in some educational assessment it would probably say I learn by the written word, not verbally, not by doing. You gotta give me something in text.
I have pulled out all my house books -- just to finish a flippin' chicken house roof. This is where perfectionism gets in the way of doing. We pulled off half of it, well half of half since alot is the nasty asbestos tile and I thought we could cover it.
On a similar vein. My chicken area fence is a comedic blunder of chicken wire and wood.
My house I would gently say is : in a shambles.
The horse fence is : dangerous.
I very much appreciate the housing blogs that tackle this stuff on their own. But I also realize they got someone in the background cooking, cleaning and if applicable, raising kids and taking care of animals that we don't know about. Or they don't sleep.
I have been canning applesauce, baking bread, getting educational stuff rolling for the kids, doctors, dentists, dump runs, hay hauling, garden mauling, chicken burials (don't even go there about eating them...), keeping the sheets changed and bathtub clean. Oh, and yesterday I cleaned the laundry room floor. Which means I can see it again.
I am tired right at the moment. Problem is I can't find the book that tells me if it is : female aging problems, weather related (it has turned cold and rainy here in the Pacific NW), or just that I have too much on my plate.
My solution is to hire someone to fix these things which is not at the moment feasible.

Image courtesy www.biggirlsruntoo.blogspot.com

School started

Photo: This wierd little building is in the middle of the horse field. No idea what it was, probably some sort of playhouse.

No, we are not in such a rural area that this is related to their schooling... for some reason this is just the picture I chose for today. Probably because it is another project for me to tackle. Sigh.

The kids are off to school. Wilder in middle school, Rose now a Sophomore. She calls herself an upperclassman with attitude. I guess it is not fun being a freshman? Who knew. I don't remember that sort of thing. The kids recently visited their great aunt and uncle who purchased them some snazzy school duds. Wilder has been wearing his new clothes with flair.

I have been trying to clean out their closets of unused, too-small clothing. I miss our former neighbors with the kids who were staggered ages so we would just hand off clothing to each other. Rose's too smalls went to Emily, Wilder was on the receiving end of Nick's.

That worked out so well I didn't buy a shirt for Wilder for two years! I have to work on my neighboring skills here. I have lost my steam and am in my own little world.

Hey! have tackled a new project, the chicken coop roof! I will share pics soon. I will also just note that nothing NOTHING I tackle is as easy as I think it will be.

Farewell to Sougan Cat

The kids dad took Sougan our eldest addled creaky cat in to be euthanized last week. I could not take her in, since Rose and I are still recovering from putting our aged dog, Sophie down six months ago. I am also not sure the vet has recovered from our sobbing.

This is why birds are good pets. They live for flipping ever.

Sougan tired and yawning from her strenuous days spent sleeping in happier, healthier days. She was a bit of a cat food overimbiber in her younger years.

Cursed book is done

Waving fans happy I finished my book... or a pic of the crowds listening to music at Bumbershoot, your choice.
I don't think I need to say more than that. But I will. This book that has taken over my life at intervals since January is finally fully off to the publisher. The proofs have been read, red-lined, corrected, the photos fixed and it all went out by fedex for $47 at 2:30 in the morn. And then I missed all the ferries home so drove around Puget Sound. So arrived when my paperboy was dropping off the morning paper just after 4 am. I didn't care, the Book is Done!!
What is funny, is I bet the neighbors think I am some sort of a party girl. Little do they know everytime I get home after midnight is due to work. I don't know whether I should really be happy about that.....

Note from soon to be divorced woman to women who are not

Just because my marriage failed.... does not mean I hate men. It does not mean I am coveting your husband or boyfriend or girlfriend. It does not mean anything but that My Marriage Failed. It has nothing to do with anyone but my (former) husband and myself. It is not about you. I don't hate marriage. I don't hate commitment. Just because my marriage failed does not mean that you only tell me about when your marriage or partnership is having hard times - as if I am so much more receptive to hearing that sort of stuff or it brings me joy. Because I am getting a divorce does not mean that to commiserate with me you share "how you have considered divorce" or how unhappy you are with your chosen partner or "how you just can't stand your partner but can't leave for (insert reason here)." Take it up with a therapist.

Added Note: It seems this is a bit harsh. The base point I am trying to make is in a life, people are together, people fall apart, people pull apart. Yes, I am getting a divorce. But I was also part of a couple, (I thought happily) for 20 years. I was hitting a streak of people only telling me their crap stories about their (purported) loved ones. You all gotta deal with that. I understand being trapped, feeling powerless, getting stuck. But at some point you need to make a move, whether that be counseling with your partner, by yourself, or whatever. I can listen, but don't only pull negative stuff out of the air to think that will bond us. I actually like hearing the good stuff.

Off in the wild blue yonder

Just placed the two wonder kids on a flight to their great aunt and uncle. Not that I want to sound tragic or anything... but it was very difficult letting them fly off on the silver 'tube of sky death' without me. While the ticket was purchased I was fine. While they were packing I was fine. While we went over our manners and how to lock the airplane bathroom door I was fine. When I was hugging them and wishing them a good time and blah blah blah I was fine.
When the plane was pushed away from the gate, when the plane sat on the tarmac running through its systems, when the plane began rolling toward the runway I was not fine.
However, since you did not hear or see reports of a crazed mother breaking through security checkpoints and running after a departing plane down the runway yelling stop you can assume I dealt with it.
Crap. This growing up thing is going to be so hard on me.

Blessed neighborly neighborliness

Photo: Wilder pointing out the one true path to God Wilder has been invited to born-again christian camp by our neighbor. She stopped by today, and told me she had been praying for my mother and her brand new hip and invited Wilder to god training... I mean summer camp. In the context of a 2-D page of writing it does not come across that I actually like my neighbors. I do. People believe what they believe for reasons that are allover the map. I am always curious how they get where they get in the spiritual world... but really, as long as it is not the hate-spewing, fearandcrap-mongering religions I could give a rip what people believe. If it makes it easier for one to navigate an unsteady or uncomfortable world... go for it. My neighbors are gentle and open people, who will help me or the kids in a lickity split. We will never probably talk god or politics... that is why I have my Jehovah Witness, Poppy(!) but they are next to me and somewhat less judgemental than other various pyschotic passive aggressive NW neighbors I may or could have. Even with the god quotient. Plus, a bonus for me, I LOVE being told I am being prayed for, or God Bless Me, or whatever little religious bon mot (how do you spell that??) comes out of her mouth. I can handle her religion, because it is seamless with her life.
Re: Wilder... I am giving him the option for camp. His sister is flippin' out. She has had bad experiences with the more wicked (stupid) side of religious zealotry on her schoolbus, and now is anti-religion, as only a teenager can be. This too shall pass.
Re: Grandma. Two hips down, two knees to go. Everyone reading this: take care of your ankles, knees, hips. It is not FUN to do this surgery or recovery. On a lighter note, we are going to start calling her Grandma Bionic for all her metal and mechanisms at her joints. Wilder will probably call her Grandma Bionicle... gotta have boys to get that one....

Women and Menopause Talk

I am 45. As in, my body according to my birth certificate is 45. My brain acts like it is somewhere around late crazy puberty -- say 19 -- and in my minds-eye I think I look 25. I just had my dental hygienist tell me all about her menopausal excitements and physical ailments, etc etc. I truly love that women can just blather on about menopause. I am fairly sure that many women in the past silently suffered through it, or grabbed guns and committed crimes (oh wait, probably not that) how about Felt Like grabbing guns or sharp implements or even pinching people at random. They had no outlet to express why or how or have understanding friends around to say "I know what you mean, I too wanted to pinch so-and-so."
I am thankful many women around me are experiencing this. I used to think it was boring to be a man, same ol' hormones, day in, day out. No mad rush of estrogen, no wild ride of hormones, no small furies that fill the sky above your head with sparkly dangerous lightning. As I fall deeper into this magical menopause land, I am thinking the ability to "put a cork in it" when I am doing one of my insane sounding grump fests might be nice. Especially when I am doing it to a newspaper reporter. Sometimes my "off" button is misplaced on my mouth. And that is not normal for me. I know I am going to be one of those in-your-face 70 year old women that everyone rolls their eyes at. At least I am getting used to it since I have a teenage girl.
Image courtesy http://www.flickr.com/photos/the_dugghouse/2443605131/

Chicken Update

The golden-laced wyandottes that we ordered this spring are almost grown up. They are past the awkward teenage chicken years. Now they are pullets but sound like baby chicks. I had a friend take care of them when I was in Michigan, and she said she kept looking around for baby chicks and then realized these big pullets were 'cheeping.' We have five. One bit the dust when we first brought them home.

Our one year old welsummers are but two. The red-tailed hawks swooped on a couple, and a neighbor dog got the other. They are more cautious and smart about running loose, but obviously no match for birds of prey and out-of-control dogs. One welsummer has decided she needs to sit on her nest and hatch unfertile eggs. We can all feel somewhat motherly and withdrawn at times, so I am going to let her work through her broodiness. My neighbor told me to surround her with a cage including food and water, and after about a week she will want OUT. I am just going to let her do her chicken thing. Her former partner-in-crime hen has been hanging around the front door. I frequently pick her up and carry her around when I do my outside jobs, since she is alone due to her broody friend. She seems to like the company. I had no idea chickens were 'breedists'... they definitely hang with their own kind. I try to get them to integrate and be compatriots with all their chicken brethen, but some things are just not to be messed with. I do notice similar temperament breed chickens hang together happily. Such as the buff orpingtons and the wyandottes. Those slow round easy-going types. Should I be offended that the welsummer hangs with me? Omigod. Am I a pea-brained colorful feathered loud sqaukin' spotty-egg layin' chicken type? Dang.

Story of a Mouse Part III : The End

Not cute, huh?

I called my daughter, who was at her dad's. She was not available so I told Dennis "Tell her there are baby mice in my room." The mousecatcher Bella is her cat, that has taken over my bed, so I needed to share the responsibility with her.
When Rose and her brother were dropped off later that day, they all ran in the house. I was listening to a story by phone from my soon-to-be-bride buddy about a get together she was at... and all the intrigue present. Rose, then Wilder, then Dennis came in and out of the room asking "where are they?" "that wasn't true, right?" while I was trying to listen on the phone. They could not believe I had rodents, babies, in my room. Dennis actually bet the kids that I was pulling their leg.
HA. On them. They thought they were cute, once they found 'em. In case you have not experienced baby mice, and I had not before this moment, they are not so cute. Rather alien like in their nuditity (yeah, i know that is not a word) and lack of eyes, hair and recognizable mouse features.
Rose is a softie. A softie with a heart of a teenager, which means cute boy aware, attitudinally challenging, lousy-mannered, but who sobs when a motherless naked mouse dies and hugs her mother when her mom is grumpy. It is a cool juxtaposition.
Regardless. We googled. We sent their dad off for baby formula and hydration materials. The kids used one of my GOOD silk scarves ("but it was in the ragbin...") for a bed in a frisbee for the newborns. The heat lamp was retrieved from the chicken coop. ALL FOR RODENTS. I am telling you, we are an embarrassment to country livin'. But I wouldn't have it any other way.
The end: we found mom, Wilder caught her, we put her in with her babies, then set them all outside the next day. She left her babies. They died. Good thing those mice breed like rats! Have I learned anything from this? 1. Mice are cute 2. Baby mice are helpless. 3. I have good kids.
Image Courtesy:
www.natepaine.com/plog/images/48.jpg

Story of a Mouse Part II

Part II:
In the middle of the night, I heard scrabbling around. And around. I would move in bed and the noise would stop. I figured that mouse was still in the house, and under my bed. All night. The next morning, after a biiiiig cup of coffee, I began moving my bed out from the wall in search of this elusive little creature. I cursed CURSED when I moved a newspaper and saw a cat "gift" that must have been left by our aged infirm feline. Except this moved. And I did a double-take. I was extremely freaked out when I realized I was looking at newborn mice.
To recap:
Cat catches mouse.
Alive mouse is carried in house by cat.
Mouse runs loose in my bedroom.
Mouse gives birth.
Human finds baby mice.
Human does not find mouse mom.
Baby mice are not cute.

Story of a Mouse Part I

When we moved out of the city, where rats are large and scary, to the suburbanish country, where mice are small and cute, our relationship changed.

Part I. I was coming down the blue farmhouse stairs and looked over the field. There is a window halfway down that you can look out over the garden, wetland, and front field. I saw Bella, our cat, traipsing across the grass toward the house with intent. She had something swinging from her clamped jaws and I thought : Good Bell, getting another rodent out of circulation. I went downstairs to let the horses back in their field, and Bella set down her conquest on the driveway. She sat over it. Then I noticed its tail move. I know cats do this. I know they have predator instincts and play with their food. All normal behavior. I just can’t see it done if the victim is still alive. She needed to kill her prey quick and then play with it, or let it go. (I seem to have all these rules of conduct for our animals—just to be clear – they don’t follow any of my suggestions)
Anyway, so she is beginning to “play” with her live captive and I told her NO. The wee mouse looked too much like our pet hamster, Chuck. I was tired, and not going to watch torture on the very small scale 12 inches from my foot. So told Bella no, and then Amanda, our dog was interested, and also mooshed the mouse with her nose. I told her no too, and Bella dove in to grab her mouse again. She looked at me with that dilated pupil crazy stinkeye, looked at our open front door… and ran toward it as I screamed NOT IN MY HOUSE! She ran to her hang-out room, which is my bedroom. Running after her, I slammed the bedroom door locking her and the mouse in my room. I was wanting her to finish the deed and get it out of my room. I was no longer in the saving frame of mind. I don’t want mice in the house. Noooooo way. I opened the door 10 minutes later, and both cats, BOTH cats are lounging on the bed falling asleep. There is no snippet of rodentia anywhere. Not a wisp, nor a whisker. I looked under the bed. (And found my missing books and two mismatched socks) I looked under the dresser. Dust bunnies. Looked under the other dresser. Found the case for my drill and reciprocating saw --why is that in my room?? No idea. First result, I should clean out under my furniture more often. Second result, no mouse.
I did what any normal person would do who had an exhausting work day and was pooped. I threw the cats out, closed the door, and went to bed.
Image Courtesy Hammielover123 http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3267/2553654823_9605524547.jpg%3Fv%3D0&imgrefurl=http://dailyhamster.com/2008/06/12/cutest-mouse-ever/&usg=__Ki30yNSbgV072EUyuQpgcyK4qLE=&h=353&w=500&sz=104&hl=en&start=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=KLMRtFKWbYoHGM:&tbnh=92&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcute%2Bmouse%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26tbs%3Disch:1

Bein' a Bride

So I got to rub shoulders with the soon-to-be bride --this is her beaming with her god-daughter this past weekend. Regardless of any drugged up delirium I may have had that day, I learned a few things.
1. It is not easy being from a large family. Rose and I were talking about it and she likened it to being in a high school clique, although one that stays with you your WHOLE LIFE. The role you were assigned at a young age is the mantle you wear for the rest of your life. Ah yes, you may accomplish things, you may get married or not, you may be whatever version of success or failure they deem is success or failure, but in the end... it is easier for families to operate if you stay loosely in the role that everyone sees you in. Be that : the smart one, the pretty one, the stubborn one, the clumsy one... ever wonder why some children move as far as possible away from family? Or why the NW of the US is so dang independent? Ask people where they are from. Where their family is. We have a lot of escapees here.
2. Family is a comfort. The good side. They know your sadnesses, the reason for your happies, they know your life. There can be comfort in not always having to explain yourself, who you are, how you came to be.
3. Family can make you crazy. Innocuous simple words such as "Can you pick up that piece of cookie on the floor?" " What did you get from Aunt Mabel?" can send a daughter into fits of apoplexy that only the oh so special mother-daughter relationship can explain.

At one point Rose put her head on my shoulder and said "I am glad you are the type of mom you are... thank you."

I will try to remember these light and appreciative moments when my now 15 year old tries my patience, pushes my buttons, and rolls into her own special teenagerland in the next couple years.

House - Painted stairs

Yes, this could be considered a rather bold color... and yes, I did really like the white that the owners had the stairs painted, it was very "original" but with KIDS and their FEET and DOGS and their MUD and CATS and WHATEVER IT IS CATS DO my white house interior does not stay very white.

Some parts of it are even a dingy sorta dirtish color.

Birthday story of long ago

Well, birthday story of three years ago. It is the season of birthdays in our house, Wilder on the 28th of May, Rose on the 5th of June. That makes for action packed weekends around our place. I lived through Wilder's party of boys, and one girl... plus his sister. Lots of yelling and sugar rushing.
This weekend will be at least a dozen fifteen year-olds whooping it up around the house. Yikes. But girls are easier? Or at least there are less fart and burp jokes.
I was wondering if they were all going to go out after hours to the gravel pit and get all dirty sliding around on their rears... and was reminded when we lived in Seattle next to a large park and beach. For Rose's birthday we thought we would go the park in the dark to the beach... such excitement for a bunch of 12 year-olds. My next door neighbor was walking down with us also. 12 year old girls being naturally squeally we thought they could get their hollering out of their system at the beach and through the forest before I was trapped in a house with them overnight. So halfway down the trail said friend disappears ahead of us down a trail. We head down the main road toward the beach, me and a dozen girls. It is dark. Evergreen trees leaning over the road. The gals are clustered around me as we hike down the hill to the beach. A truck drives by us heading uphill toward the exit. Then, a few minutes later, the truck is back... directly behind us a few yards. With their lights off. And shaded windows that I could not see in to who was driving. Once the girls noticed we were being followed, they began to freak out. Who out there is familiar with group psychology of girls? Not pretty, and we were about 1/2 mile from home. With no one around. And my neighbor somewhere down the trail and not able to hear me when I was calling her. Here we were out having an exciting evening of night beach visits and we are being shadowed by a truck of creepers. My inclination was to tear those truck boys a new somethingerather, I was that pissed that they thought that would be funny.
The main thing I have thought of since this is what sort of people in the truck thought it was funny to intimidate a gaggle of prepubescent girls like a scene out of a bad horror flick? They must have felt very powerless within their own lives to get a charge outta that.
The boring end of story is : called home and Dennis came and got the kids in the minivan, called neighbor on trail to go home, and I did not get to kick anyone's truck butt.
Wish me luck for this weekend. I think we will "do nails."

Seattle story - "Getting in Touch with Nature"

Every day that I work, (all of three days a week) I go to Metropolitan Market in West Seattle to pickup lunch, dinner, or goodies for our volunteers.
I usually walk around in my own little bubble, as Seattlelites are prone to do, but today I stepped out of my bubble to poke at someone elses bubble.
While waiting in the coffee line for tea and to purchase a lovely tomato plant (one can never grow too many tomatoes it seems in May and June, UNTIL those tomatoes start ripening, and then I wonder what the heck I was thinkin' and start pawning them off on strangers...)
anyway, on topic....waiting in line. The fellow in front of me was talking to coffee gal, and saying he had been communing with nature. That he was getting in touch with nature by going to Green Lake and walking.
Let's visit Green Lake, shall we?
When he was saying how good he felt being out of doors in nature, I could not help but let out one of those nostril blows that is somewhat snortish. He turned around, and said, "you don't like green lake?" I told him I did not really think Green Lake was nature. (man-made lake, giant paved trail around it, that is packed on weekends, surrounded by a busy road on three sides and a highway on the other, and fringed with houses) As is usual when I blurt out these blunt-ish statements, he got a bit ruffled. If he would have been HONEST and said " I went to Green Lake to check out the babes" or some such, I would not have snorted. So sad that Seattle residents are beginning to think a paved trail and lawn is nature. You plant housing and condos like trees, and look what happens. People lose touch with greenspace. Used to be a goal of Seattle... now it is just "build-me-up-baby...make-mine-multi-use-housing-please"
I guess that is what balconies and lanais are for. Plants.

Refrigerators

If you have any good fridge recommendations, let me know. The other day I had some leftover soup I had put in the freezer. It tasted... "interesting" not bad, just a bit different.
About a week later I reached in the freezer and pulled out a bag of (formerly) frozen vegetables, squishy, leaking, somewhat luke-warm. Did a minor swear and started poking at the rest of the stuff in the fridge. Most things were still rock solid frozen. Thought.... "hmmm, maybe the kids left the door ajar a bit."
When I got home from work on Sunday, Dennis was dropping the kids off. He politely informed me that a cat or dog had went pee on the entry way carpet. Then, we noticed it was not animal wee-wee, but refrigerator wee-wee. As in, the fridge was no longer cooling. Our fridge is now located in our camping coolers. And last night I cooked all the meats, so we will be set with eating the leftover halibut, salmon, bacon and kalbi beef. I didn't want it all to go bad...

I just know my hot water heater is next. The upside of that is that it would ruin everything in the basement I have not yet unpacked that is in boxes on the ground. All that water damage would let me throw it all out without looking at it, or having to put it all away.
And have a clean basement, like the day we moved in.

Parents, kids, and public middle school

"When I was young" we were a sloppy yet consistently big group of neighborhood kids that went through elementary, middle school and high school together. There were not other options other than catholic school in my youth... so the public schools were a pretty all encompassing group of children and adults within a defined geographical boundary. Never mind that the PTA back then was scary and a bit Stepfordwife-ish. There was a set of unspoken and spoken rules of how children and adults behave, what was acceptable in school, yada yada. And if little Johnnie or little Stephanie was out of line at school.... geez-lou-eezie you did not want to be there when their parents heard about it.
Middle school back then was mean. No two cents about it. Anyone who did not fit the mold (whatever that was at the moment) was tortured verbally, and the beginning of the clique culture began.
When I was faced with middle school for our daughter, I found a girls school that took her in. Her strength in math and science was developed at this point, and continue to give her an edge in high school. At the end of her time there, I left her dad and bought a farm. We moved to a small town.
Our son is gearing up for middle school. It feels like a slap in the face to me, I took him away from his Seattle friends thinking I was returning to a version of my childhood (yeah, I know you can't go back) where similar kids from allover a geographical area attend school together. Where it is clear what is acceptable, and what is not. HA. Would that be where kids divide by cultural background and taunt the kids not in their 'group'? Would that be where a middle school girl can be raped on a full SCHOOL BUS with no kids piping up and the driver not noticing? How about 11 year old kids being thrown against lockers and things thrown in toilets?
Fear of this is what makes parents, who have the financial ability, to homeschool or head off to private school.
I could do that with our daughter, what do I do with our son? I have thrown him into a substandard educational system, that seems to have no teeth against bullying and flat-out criminal activity. My daughter gets in arguments daily on the bus about gays, christianity and people of color. She told me yesterday that she is beginning to hate christianity. I told her the Ghandi quote "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ". It is hard to show her the middle road.

No Complaint Day

Photos: Top:I know the reason this grows on my trees is because the spores of the forest that once stood here 100 years ago still live in the area. Bottom: The trillium are blooming, or they were when I took this pic three weeks ago.

I have no complaints today. Just thought that would drop in a bit of fresh air. I probably shouldn't type anymore, because I will roll into some sort of whine about something. This Sunday in Kitsap County...

my old cat snores,

it was close to 70 degrees,

I sat in a chair outside "doing work due tomorrow" so slowly...,

had a great dinner with the kids made by the soon to-be-ex at his clean place, not my messy place in honor of mother's day,

had nice things said to me by our 14 year old, (who is almost as tall as her dad!)

had sunflowers in a pot given to me by our 10 year old son, (who is under the weather)

and I got stuck behind Bainbridge drivers who drive so retardedly (I know, not a word) slow like 10-15 miles below the speed limit that I almost expressed myself potty-mouth linguistically all the way across that godforsaken island. If I ever live on Bainbridge, you will know I am either a)on serious medication and not aware of my surroundings b)had a brain hemmorhage or traumatic head injury and so again "am not aware of my surroundings or c) I have lived through menopause but with a complete reversal of my personality and hormonal drives and come out the other side a middle-class housewife with an audi, timeshare in Hawaii, white carpets and furniture, botox injections, and a new husband who uses more facial products than I do. Happy days.

Did I mention the father of my beloved children live on Bainbridge? And he loves it?

And that little diatribe is not complaining. Or whining.

Note to readers: (also called the Seattle Disclaimer) The above is only my version of hell. I have never lived with white furniture and will probably not ever be attracted to a metrosexual man, this does not mean that audis or Hawaiian timeshares are evil. (Although... they aren't in the BIBLE) I digress. Damn, those bible teachings are thrilling! I digress again. I love you all. If you embrace the middle class ways as I have been taught to do, such as the experienced joy at a fresh mowed lawn or a fine cup of coffee made by an impertinent coffee puller (oops, I mean barista) it is all good. Marriage is good, homogeneity (?) is fine. Heck, we can even be friends if you live on Bainbridge. But it will be so very hard for me if you drive 15 miles under the speed limit on the highway. But I can do it. I live for the thrill of a good challenge. And my retard comment should have been the 70's 80's version where you drag out the REEEtard. Remember? If you are too young for that reference, or too old, then we can go with "mentally challenged" instead. See, you can take the girl out of Seattle, but not the Seattle PC out of the girl.

Habitat for Humanity - how to put up siding sexily

Quick post.
1. Went for my first session of "how to build a house" so I can volunteer. Actually, just want to have those basic skills, practice them in a safe supervised environment, and then help build a house!
2. This is a specific class "Women Build" , all gals, I guess so we don't get all quiet and female-y around the "take-charge" men.
3. When I went to check in, the front desk gal at Lowes, where the class was being held told me I was early and I should go "look at some pretty flowers" while waiting.
4. The fellow leading the class asked me how old I was in the 80's to use as an example of black mold. (I guarantee my age has nothing to do with the prevalence of black mold in modern housing)
5. I can't stand any of that shit. How old am I? Go look at flowers? Argh.

Gardening weekend

Once I worked (slept) through my first ever two-day migraine I have ever had I bounded out of bed (dizzily, caffeine-bereft) and went outside. It was momentarily not raining, so I decided to hell with the broken lawn tractor....I would hire someone to mow the lawn. It makes me crazy not to have the lawn mowed. It is not like it can get so long anyway, I don't water it in the summer, and let the horses at it spring and fall when it rains. But it is an uneven field of weeds, sprouts, mosses, a few grasses and volunteer onions (no idea why those are there).
Looked on craigslist...picked up the phone. Within an hour two guys came over. One hour after that I am in mowed lawn bliss. See, big headaches are great for some things. I really appreciated such a simple act. And then I planted. And planted, and planted. A new peach tree, and a pear. Two roses. Shade and sun perennials. Two pots worth of annuals. All my lilies and plants I divided and took from our old Seattle house. I may be cursing myself in a couple weeks when I have to weed the six new beds I created... but right now I am loving it.
For mothers day when I was living the standard family life, I always asked for an undisturbed day of gardening. If only I could get paid to putter in my yard. And avoid the house and all its demands to be cleaned and organized....maybe I could just camp outside. I will work on that goal.

Modified To-Do List

This is just to get it out of my head.
1. Leave for weekend trip. Get food for crew.
2. Leave note for kid dad, animal maintenance staffperson in our absence.
3. Call bridal mother.
4. Finalize details for bridal shower.
5. Maintain positive and forward thinking attitude. Even in the depths of todo list hell.
6. Drink water.
7. Find out what "noxious dangerous toxic" thing happened near our house in the last 100 years alluded to by neighbor.
8. Get brakes done on van.
9. Clean out mystery spills in van.
10. Clean out van in general.
11. Do nightly yoga with daughter. And speedwalking around road.
12. Figure out 'take care of ma' week in Michigan.
13. strip bathroom. Or ask kid dad to do it this weekend! yeah. like that idea.
14. Fix barn horses tore off front of. Brutes.
15. Pet horses. Groom horses.
16. Chase dog around yard.
17. Start up Sunday night baseball games.
18. Make cursed doctors appts.
19. Including cursed dentist.
20. Write report for work.
21. Sleep.
22. Daydream.
23. Drink coffee.
24. Enjoy baked goods in moderation.
25. Look at new school for children.
26. Talk to Rose' counselor.
27. Transfer audio system for memorial.
28. Do this all in the next 3 days.

Why This is an Anonymous Blog (of sorts)

Ran into some photographers. We began chatting. One of them lives on Bainbridge. We instantly rolled into commuter "ferrytalk." I told her I was writing about all the ferries. She asked if I was an author. I snorkled out of my nose. No, just blogging about it. She wanted to read the blog. I said it was not really public. Repeated. Then realized how absorippinglutely ridiculous that sounded. It is on the internet. Of course I am public. Just loosely anonymous.
This began as a venting action to keep my sanity when I moved for healthy reasons away from the father of my children and bought a farm. And left my cheer group behind. Oh, I mean peer group. Dang girls, anyway. So this was my way to share stories, get them out of my system. I am one who will tell a story about tripping over a piece of toilet paper, so not to be able to share those vital parts of my day with friends just about killed me. Like, I have to tell that toilet paper story, gotta get it out of the ol' system. So, hence, blog.
And no, I won't tell her where to find this blog. It is odd to think of someone who has met me, but does not know me, reading this. I am fine with anonymous readers, commenters, lurkers, since that is a different tier of 'knowing.' And actually it is cool to find random people out there that for whatever reason click on this blog and have something in common. It makes the big big world much smaller.
I have to remember I can't really know any of the bloggers I read, truly, no matter how personal I think they get. This is a written record of things we choose to write about. I think there is also a bit of professional cautiousness on my part about telling people about the blog. Since the co-ferry commuter knows "where I work." Yeah, yeah, I am a wuss.

Ferry Riding Guide - Kingston to Edmonds run

There is just so much to say about this run. It is one of my faves, except on spring and summer weekends . That line up the hill to wait for the ferry takes forever in Edmonds and the wait on the hill in Kingston also bites. Don't take this ferry on the weekend to the peninsula/rainforest/Port Townsend or Twilight land. Take the Bainbridge, which just adds 15 minutes onto the drive, and cuts off 2 hours of sitting in your car waiting to get on the ferry.

Quick and long notes: I never see security checking the Edmonds side of the commute which kinda freaks me out, why exclude Edmonds from the sniffy dogs and people in uniform? The Edmonds gate people have the most charisma that they are willing to share. Other ferry booths also have personality, but most often you see them sharing that with each other. Some at Edmonds are also hilarious. One speaks german and is sparky. One is a little droll with droopy eyes. Mostly men work these gates. Mostly women run (what I call) the motorcycle gate on the dock. On the Kingston side, the ticket sellers can alternate between surly and pleasant. It should be noted that I have also seen some of the strangest tourist behavior on this boat, so they may be reflecting the clientele of the day. At least I have never seen them pound on a car, wave their arms, yell and swear as one of the main floor leads on the Bainbridge route has done.

The ferry ride itself is the shortest cross-Sound ride. When in Edmonds, there is not much next to the dock other than a couple espresso stands and three bars. If you really have time (and you usually do not once you are in the official ferry queue) a walk up the street can lead you to some "It's an Edmonds Kind Of Day" experiences. Although, less and less is evident as Edmonds tears down anything older or smaller and replaces it with.... oh lets guess.... condos? Condos that are built in a month and look it? The clue here was when they remodeled an older OLD structure that used to be full of shops, giant beams, wood floors, kinda squirrel-y, not to be duplicated type building into what? What? Ah yes. A building like friggin' every other building. People people people.
Dang, such a good digresser, am I.
OK. On the Kingston side : visit the bakery, first old building on the left when you get off the ferry. They have parking. Pies, cookies, cupcakes, rolls, bread, everything made fresh daily by friendly bakers who also are the cashiers. And everything can be single serving to go. If you are in the mood for ice cream, head over one block to Moras for homemade and across the street at the burger place for regular. The mora girls can be snorky, the burger place can get harried. But if you are nice, they will extend themselves. The little taco place next to Mora's rocks and is a cheap healthy alternative. The creperie at the corner is a blast to watch them make the crepes.
Regular ferry rules apply: Don't set your car alarm. Don't run on the boat. Turn your music down. Don't talk on the cell phone getting on or off the ferry. Hey, I just noticed I am a very Don't/No person. I shall rephrase.
Regular ferry rules apply: Do leave your car alarm off. The motion of the ferry will set it off and you will be called over the PA. Do maintain a walking pace while shipboard. Please keep your music trapped inside your car. Leave your cellphone off on boarding or disembarking the boat when driving. Coffee is a buck if you bring your own cup. (But their coffee has taken a turn for the worse, not sure what is up with that) Let's see, for the Edmonds/Kingston run in particular, be patient with the round headed car parker ferry workerman.

This ferry usually unloads exactly as they load. As in, you will get off loosely in the order you got on. Unlike the Bainbridge/Seattle run, although I noticed they were changing that a bit. I guess those ferry captains talk or email each other about what works, and what doesn't.

Strange ferry phenomenon: When someone honks, other cars honk. Even if you have no idea what the honking is for. Like they are all a herd of geese and have no other purpose. Kinda like when our dog barks because she hears a neighbor dog bark. She has no clue what it is barking about but just wants to put in her two cents. I tell her to hush, if she does not know what everyone is barking about she should not copy. She should have her own reason for barking, and not just follow the crowd. If she was a lemming or a teenager, she would have big problems.

This Old House

Too keep myself on track, or at least remotely inspired I subscribed to several old home/restoration/farmish/do-it-youself type magazines. The spring copy of This Old House came yesterday, and in it the editor was talking about a job he had to do at a relatives house. And he described the house as ramshackle. I immediately thought "Omigod, I think I live in a ramshackle house." At least, if This Old House was to walk by, they would call it ramshackle. I think I am going to embrace that word, and make it my own.

There is a wierd feeling I get when I get home late from work, all is dark, the kids are at their dads. My house looms. It is not even very big(!) 1900 sf or so, and it literally looms above me as I walk up. It is not an ominous looming, just a presence. As in, I have stood here at this spot for a dang long time and you gotta respect that, lady.
I cannot help but think how proud the original owner who built it must have felt. It seems BIG for its era of modest Poulsbo farmhouses, and the proud feeling I have of making this a home for my family has to be nothing next to the feeling of building it 106 years ago out of nothingness on empty logged dirt.

Book News

For those of you monitoring my blood pressure and cranky levels, I sent the book text off minus the intro last week. Today, as long as the heavens allow and the ferry doesn't sink, I will be sending off all 199 images, minus five pending from another institution.

News Flash: I am in the ferry line, and the police just told someone to turn down their music. For the first time in my life of hearing overloud music, I actually really like that song and was kinda groovin'.

I did not know that was a ferry line requirement to have low volume tunes. Polite, yes, law, no. Live and learn people.

Picture: Has nothing to do with book, but does have to do with blood pressure. How many of these cookies do you think you can eat without it affecting health? I am thinking alot. I will let you know.

Gentleman Woman Farmer

That is what my neighbor called me yesterday, somewhat stumbling over it all. A gentlemanwomanfarmer. I guess that is alot better than 'single-mom-getting-into-lordknowswhat-without-a-man girl' neighbor. Sometimes I feel I am on the receiving end of folks not able to fit me into their little hole of working single ma. Whatever that means in their head, I guarantee I don't fit it.
In the past two years I have dealt with things I never dreamed were still happening around Seattle, or for that matter, since the 1970's. I forgot how open Seattle is. There is a reason people are moving here in droves.
I am only 20 miles away, but wow, it is quite a different beast over here. I am missing the alarm in my brain that has a clearly designated this-is-woman-behavior and this-is-man-behavior section. I didn't grow up that way in my family. If it needed doing, it was done. Didn't matter what gender accomplished the task. In this place, for better or worse, I am the do everything person. I don't have the luxury of only cooking and cleaning. I also have to fix the mower (slowly) clean the gutters (fearfully) get the cars repaired (I like this part) talk to neighbors with wayward dogs (not so much) oh, and get my kids in to get their teeth cleaned. For the first time in my life, I have been told that there are things women do, and things men do, and that is for a reason. And, that it is in the bible. Sigh. I am hitting small bumps of how to fit into community meetings, where the women flow to one area and the men to another. I have a foot in both the decision making homeowner group and the childrearing gardening cooking group. How is that navigated? Before I die, I will know. But for now, I don't. And sometimes it is just tiring. I know why I have such a fierce love of inclusiveness within groups. Some sort of reaction to being excluded. Yeah, yeah, not everyone needs to like me, but civility is a good thing. I make it sound like everyone is cognizant of their behavior, and I really think they are not. All strange. But also, all invigorating for me. I love a good challenge, and an opportunity for opening minds, or probably more appropriate for me, but less effective, the opportunity to smack closed minds into shock mode. But politely, of course.

I am really doomed if a man does wander into my life. Since I don't want to be the inside the house cleaning person. Or even the crafty person. I want to be the outside breaking things like my lawn mower person. Or trying to fix things and getting all oily and dirty person. Or tying my hair up with baling twine and wearing jeans all day person. And then when I am all dirty and tired come in the clean house with dinner already done person. I also don't want to be the scrub around the base of the toilet person. That is my least favorite job.

Friends

1. That is a very wacked opinion, Ms. Feisty. Can we make a $1000 bet whether that happens or not? Am confirming at LEAST Saturday night.
2. I need garden help, Ms. Green. The weeds are sprouting. And I am just watching them.
3. Ms. McBride: Rest well. It will all be over soon. (Wow, that sounds almost deadly)

Another commute, another coffee accident

The big maw of the ferry awaits me...
I had to really think where this is! Duh. It is Bremerton, home of the Navy Shipyards. And quaint coffee shops, antique stores, excellent public art and a few good art galleries. Yay Bremerton! I can't figure out how I took this picture. That is the rack on the truck unglamorously framing the shot.

My daily commute. Coffee cup just perched for spillin', laptop open and ready to receive that spill, and about 10 minutes into the ferry ride me drooling, face pressed up against the driver side window sleeping. Ah yes, I am a hot BABE.

Dress Shopping for Assistant to the Bride

I am seeing a pattern. Bridesmaid dresses all seem to be for much younger females than I. As in, ones with perky small non-childrearing breasts, a 'sleeker' waist and let's just face it, overall YOUNGER. The clincher was when I tried on a dress and had to manually pull parts of my anatomy up about 6 inches (I am not kidding) to smoosh in those parts of my anatomy into the too small breast containment zone. I could not figure out what the lumps were above my belly button. They were my boobs flattened. That was a very sad realization. Not a good look. (But hey, I would really make the lovely bride look good, wouldn't I?) And really, spaghetti straps? Those won't even hold my .... well, we are running a family style blog here. I am thinking the whole strapless concept is a danger zone for me unless this is a 'clothing optional' wedding. And it is not. What if I had to jump in the air with my arms up for some strange reason?

I think I will start looking at the mother of the bride/groom dresses.....

Habitat for Humanity - training

I have written before about my extreme love for the re-use building supply store. And craigslist. The reason I basically have close to $7000 worth of never installed bathroom materials sitting in the garage waiting to go in my "new" bathroom, and what did I pay? Kohler, Restoration Hardware, American Standard...ah yes, I paid just around $900.
There was an article in the paper yesterday about training for women on construction basics with then the ability to help build a house nearby. I am going for it. I am master at painting, but construction has me looking to the kids dad, friends or neighbors. It would be nice to know how to do it. Way way in my faraway youth I was trained on what I consider huge equipment for art school.... which had a masterful shop, but I recall none of that. Other than the saw was really big. And would take your finger tips off lickitysplit. And that the art piece I produced got good reviews and a killer story from a classmate at 4 in the morning the night before it was shown.
Such a long time ago. But I still remember that story!

Junior Bridesmaid Gowns by Alvina Valenta - Style 507

Now that I wonderfully thrown a fit at my gal pal 3 months before her wedding.... Rose has found her bridesmaid dress. We still need authorization from the bride for color choice, but it was grueling getting the daughter to pick a dress! There was one that she and I both Loved, but I figured the bride would not want two gals standing by her side dressed like classical roman slave girls ala 2010. I do have a wee bit of sense.
Junior Bridesmaid Gowns by Alvina Valenta - Style 507

About said personal fit: when longtime friends no longer keep in touch or share their lives with you the way they did, it sucks. I am just realizing how much it sucks and able to recognize it and no longer take it personally, but it is hard to lose that link in communication. When your lives are woven together by history, familarity, love, longevity and stories... I am torn between "I should have just kept it to myself since she is getting married in three months" and "share." I chose share, and we shall see where that goes. There is so much more wrapped up in this conversation... but the bottom line for me nowadays is trust. I suppose that will be my mantra for the rest of my days of living. And that squirrel-y word 'truth' which I used to believe was so concrete and black and white, and it is nothing of the sort. Where are those hard black and white words that we can solidly build upon? Which ones are written in stone?

Fort Worden Port Townsend

We took a quick trip over spring break up to ol' Fort Worden. These were built as WWI and WWII security for the entrance to Puget Sound, one of three such batteries. All that are left are echo-ey huge cement blocks buried in the hillsides. Remnants of the cannon supports, ammunition rooms and narrow hallways abound. The rockin' thing is that you can climb anywhere in, over, through them. The hidden tunnels are the creepiest. There are no lights other than our own weak flashlights brought from home.

Whirlwind of Anger and Bad Parenting

Today is the first Easter in my life spent alone. Yes, yes, I suppose I am feeling sorry for myself. I am still at heart a spoiled only child. And therefore, what did I do when the kids arrived this evening from their weekend at dads? Called their father to the carpet for not even registering it was Easter (still a big deal at my house) the importance of his involvement with his son, and my extreme desire not to have to tell him these things since I am not in that wife role any longer. Then I moved on to our son, who was procrastinating about school work. Then I nailed Rose about her brothers hair. (can you see this is starting to become non-sensical anger?)
Rose came downstairs after the lights were out to have a heart to heart with me about how inappropriate and mean what I said was. And that she thought I should apologize. And she was right. When I think about what I said it makes me cringe. So not like me, but so very like me to attack in that manner when I feel like crap. I apologized. And she shed her traditional "tears of frustration" at me. Funny when a 14 year old can switch maturity level with a 45 year old.
Then to top off the evening I sent a volatile email off to a good friend that the timing is very inconvenient for her stress levels. Or mine for that matter. I suppose that is another post.
At age 45 I have finally figured out that when I am angry, it is actually fear. That is so difficult for me to claim, since I would always define myself as fearless. Cautious yes, but fear, no. But fear is very present when I roll into this sort of erratic nastiness. So I suppose my next 45 years will be finding out where this fear comes from and how to not make those I love miserable when I am threatened. Sigh. Well, that does give me some time....

Rainbow - Must be Shamrock Shake time

Strange but true. When we were coming back from Rose's piano we saw this lovely vision of brightness in a crappy weather day. But look... look where the end of the rainbow rests. McDonald's. McDonald's was enveloped in the wide array of rainbow tints, all lovely and glowing.

Seattle Viaduct

The Seattle waterfront has a two-level freeway running next to and above it.
Sometimes when things have always been there (ya know, within your own lifetime) you get used to seeing it and cannot imagine anything else.

The unfortunate truth is that this is duplicate to the freeway in San Francisco that pancaked and fell during the 1989 earthquake. Seattle has been ignoring this fact and dealing with it at the same time. Local news reports after the SF earthquake reported--the Seattle viaduct is NOT like the San Francisco viaduct -- and then proceeded to tell us it is not long for this world and sinking and placed weight restrictions on it. See, the freeway is built upon fill. That fill is supported by wood pilings that date back to early Seattle. When where I was standing in the photo was water and docks. And those pilings have been chewed by piling eating worms. So those pilings really are not supporting the pillars any longer. Hence, the freeway sinking. Hence, the metal supports added in pic #1. I think all that temp work to shore it up was over 14 million. Here is the possible replacement that our governor,

Gregoire, and our former mayor, Nickels were in a pissing match about. Well now Seattle has a new mayor, god help that city, McGinn, such a perfect Seattle can't make a decision, let's make sure we all feel good about it, let's have absolutely no leadership experience or budget handling experience but get people to vote for us because we are not the other guy, let's have endless pointless expensive time wasting meetings about it and then still not make a decision Mayor McGinn. I don't know what his opinion is about it other than he may want half the lanes dedicated to walkers and bikers... which the day I see semi trucks from the waterfront hauling cargo all across the US by bicycle is the day I will stop drinking coffee. This simulation of the viaduct replacement by tunnel under Seattle is brilliant. I did not add the simulated viaduct in an earthquake that is also on youtube... that is the sort of thing that makes people paranoid. (And I think my car was represented in there...) but you can google that in your own time. I will not contribute to american paranoia. Except through my own children.

Under Seattle by car.... : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgtOTMJt-AI (note, I can't get this to work, if it works for you, let me know)

Seattle views

The first image is a view of the historic Smith Tower on the right --the smaller pointed-hat topped building all alone. This building - for over 50 years the tallest building west of the Mississippi - is now barely seen compared to the rest of the citys highrise towers. This pic is deceptive, since my camera and perspective make all those towers seem about th same height. The large black tower in the center, tallest in Seattle, was evacuated on 9/11 since the country was flipping out. Justifiably.

The Smith tower has a room you can rent at the top of it with a 360 degree view of Seattle and Puget Sound. The cement structure below is the viaduct, an elevated freeway that runs above the Seattle waterfront and doomed in an earthquake. It is closed this weekend for measuring... since it is sinking and unstable. I used to not drive on it except under duress, or when late. Now I drive on it since it is the fastest route to the ferry.

I have accepted my mortality.

Zoning changes

As I mentioned before, when buying this house I did every possible type of research to figure out zoning, land-use and projected projects in the area. We are zoned 5-acre rural. I bought waaaay outside of the city limits, since they were going for 'density' in that area. I bought a property with wetlands on it. Protected, yes? I know I have limits placed by county and state regulations as to what I am able to do near it.

Two days ago I got a note in the mail about a public meeting. Why? Because they are going to rezone us rural industrial. Can we say "stressed out and ready for a fight?" Yes, we can say that easily.